Journal of a Drama Queen
by freddieismyqueen
Summary: PreDuringPost Rent Maureen the drama queen's perspective on what happened. Not quite what you'd expect rated mainly for language right now.


A.N. - I do not own any of the characters portrayed in the musical or movie versions of Rent. This will be slightly more true to the movie version because I've seen it more recently and Joanne / Maureen are easier to track during the course of the movie than during the play. All main characters belong to Jonathan Larson, anyway. I suppose I will have to dedicate this journal of Maureen the Drama Queen to the memory of Mr. Larson, a true visionary who brought to light that there is 'No Day But Today'. R.I.P.

**December 10, 1989**

My therapist told me to start keeping a journal. She actually called it a diary at first. A diary? Me? No, I don't partake in any of that silly little girl bullshit, and she knows it. She told me just to keep my thoughts in a type of journal thing. You know, therapeutic, blah blah. All of that crap. I think she probably wants to read it at some point or something, but I don't know about that. I mean, this could be some personal shit. How would she feel if I went through her fucking journal / diary? I wonder if she keeps a diary, anyway. I mean, hell, it is 'therapeutic'. I wonder how often she expects me to write in this...I don't know if I can write in it everyday. I mean, HELLO, I do have a life! I guess that's what I'm probably supposed to write about. I don't know, of course. I've never had one of these things.

Anyway, I'm still working on a protest. Christmas Eve, of course. There's no better time to nail the fucking rich bastards than the holiday season, the one time of year they might actually have a heart. Right now, though, I am lacking a Production Manager, having fired Mark.

Poor Mark, right? Anyway, he was on my case as always, 'Maureen, you can't do this,' blah-blah, 'dubiously legal...', piss and moan, 'police frown on that'...you know, the same old shit he's always on about. So, yeah. He's asleep in his bed while I lay on the cold fucking floor and write in this cheap spiral notebook from the drugstore. Red cover. I guess anyone reading this can see that, but if there were another Holocaust or something and I were persecuted...you know, the corporation big-wigs decide to annihilate the starving artists...well, if that happens and I'm killed in some sort of...performing arts concentration camp, I want everyone in the future reading 'The Diary of Maureen Johnson' to know that the notebook has a red cover. I know, it's stupid, really, but I think it's an important detail. My therapist would say the selection of a red notebook would have something to do with my character, but what exactly, I'm not sure. She's the one with the fucking Phd in human psycho-analysis thingy or whatever. I'm just the college dropout theatre whore. What do I know, hmm? Maybe she'll tell me sometime. I don't know. I shouldn't care, but I guess on some fucked up level, I do care at the moment. I mean, hell, going to a therapist just so they can beat it into the ground that they're better than you isn't anything. And then my parents paying for the therapy when I'm trying my best to be a responsible adult just reiterates the fact that I'm worthless. Maybe worthless wouldn't be so bad if I didn't think I were completely fucked up. As it is, I'm in a dead end relationship with some guy who loves a goddam video camera more than me, his girlfriend.

Let's delve into that, a bit, shall we? I mean, I am Maureen. Mark has always worshiped...Maureen. Okay, still with me? See, Mark and Maureen have a nice, fun relationship for a little while. Great sex, okay? Then, out of nowhere, out of fucking NOWHERE, this camera obsession completely shuts me out. He never tried to tape us having sex or anything like that, but it still kind of creeped me out. I love being noticed, but that's what the stage is for. Someone standing there with a camera in hand, having a conversation with you _with_ his camera...looking at you. That is the epitome of creepy. I don't like it, Mark won't stop it, it's just not working for me. So yeah, we're growing apart. And if anyone asks, it'll be my fault.

Mark caught me cheating on him. It was a one night fling kind of thing, a mercy fuck really...I mean, that guy hadn't been laid in a long fucking time and I was drunk, so one thing led to another...but Mark found out. He stopped making his films and started just...taping shit. He said he's just waiting for an idea for a new movie, taping for inspiration, but somehow I think he'll be at it for a while. He doesn't know how to let things go, but I do. Before too long, if he doesn't stop, I'm going to have to let him go. I don't hate him. I just don't love him. Not anymore. It's not anything he's done really, not even the camera. I think that the relationship died way before that ever happened. We were both just kind of clinging to some...fucking fantasy that we could work out, get married, have kids, finish college, live in suburbia...it sounds so against my nature, but I wanted it just as much as Mark. Maybe more. But I know when a relationship is dying. I clung on...actually am clinging on...much longer than is right. Mark doesn't know how to let go. He just doesn't understand what over means.

Well, I kind of can't leave because I have nowhere to go. I need to wait this out. Mark needs to understand that I don't hate him, because I know what it will look like. It always makes me look bad, and I'm not a bad person! As much as everyone wants to blame me for everything, it's not all my fault. I know that Benny didn't like me much, but I didn't MAKE him marry Alison, move out, and just generally be a jackass towards the rest of us. I'm not the reason he, Mark, and Roger are now barely on speaking terms. He left on his own. Just because he met Alison after storming out in a huff at my insulting him in one way or another doesn't mean that it's MY fault. Benny would have met Alison regardless. That's what you call 'fate'. Roger thinks I'm full of shit in those regards, but _fuck him._ Seriously, I can't stand living with Roger. I don't understand how he and Mark are such great friends. Mark has something called ambition, integrity, even. Roger...Roger just got off of heroin less than a year ago, won't even leave the goddam loft. He's utterly worthless as a human being. He's the kind of shit that makes me feel better about myself. I'm not saying that I'm necessarily better than him, I'm just saying that I actually put forth an effort not to be totally worthless.

Can you believe that I wanted to fuck him at one point? No, seriously. When he was dating April, before she slashed her wrists, that is, Mark was off visiting the parents and I was staying---his parents never liked me much anyway. Thought that I was going to break little Marky's heart, which I might still do, come to that, but that's not the point. The point is, Roger was strung out on heroin and I had actually just smoked pot with Collins. Mark generally frowned on that, but he wasn't there, and I was bored. I pulled off Roger's shirt and kissed him, tried to get him to fuck me, but he wouldn't. _He wouldn't_. I don't think we ever really talked after that. Yes, go ahead and think I'm a horrible person now. Oh, I almost fucked my boyfriend's best friend! I deserve to be burnt at the stake! Take me away now! _You_ try living with a person who pays more attention to a machine than to you. _You _try sleeping next to that man every night, his back turned to you while he mutters in his sleep about his silly movies and his parents. _You _live that life and try not to be driven into another's arms. It's amazing that I only cheated on him once. That, in my opinion, makes me a very good person. Considering, of course, the relationship was already dead when I cheated on him. That makes me a fucking _saint_ compared to most people. Most people would hole up in a cheap ass hotel every night, fucking whoever would do them the honor. I have never been like most people.

I think that's enough writing for tonight. I really want to go to sleep and just not think about shit like that anymore. I just wish I weren't sleeping alone on this freezing cold floor. I wish Mark would come in here. I might still be on the freezing cold floor, but at least I wouldn't be alone. I think that's probably my biggest fear in life, to be alone---enough. Enough for tonight.


End file.
